Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller by Jane Holland

has
tattoos and piercings, like thousands of other people in Cornwall, but where
most flaunt a rose or a skull on one arm, Denzil has both arms covered in
designs, and much of his back. His ears have multiple piercings, and last year
his nose and lip were both pierced too, with a delicate chain running from one
to the other. And his father’s in prison for aggravated assault at the moment.
Nobody seems to know when he’ll get out.
    None of that stops me from liking him. I first
made friends with him shortly after my mother was killed. We were at the same
school, and his dad had just been sent to prison for burglary. People pointed
us both out in the playground and hassled us outside school. Even at primary
school, we had a common understanding that life was shit, and if you wanted to
survive it, you had to toughen up.
    Saturday morning, I head for the garden centre
to see Denzil, and find him lugging immense sacks of manure from a trolley onto
the display pallets.
    Denzil
straightens in surprise, wiping a dirt-covered hand across his face and leaving
a black streak on his cheek. He’s got huge tawny hair like a lion, naturally curly.
‘Ellie? What are you doing here?’
    ‘I’ve
been calling and texting you for days, but no reply.’
    He
looks guilty, not meeting my gaze. ‘I did mean to call you but my phone’s been turned
off. I … lost the charger cable. Sorry, you know how it is.’
    I
don’t believe him but say nothing. I understand how it feels not to want to
communicate.
    Jago leans out of the office. The boss’s son,
thick-set like his father, and trying to grow a beard by the stubbly look of
his chin. Another one who went to school with me. The place is crawling with
them, which isn’t surprising when you consider that our school is the only one
for miles.
    ‘Hey,
Ellie,’ Jago says in his whining voice. ‘Saw that story in the newspaper about
you. Shocking stuff. You must have been furious.’
    His knowing smile makes my skin crawl. I look
him in the eye and say, ‘ Story being
the operative word.’
    ‘Come
again?’
    ‘She
means it was a load of shit,’ Denzil says drily, and heaves another bag of
manure onto the pallet. ‘Like this lot.’
    Jago
stares. ‘You watch your language. Or you’ll be out of a job. Talking of which,
you’d better hurry up with that. You’ve got another two trolleys to unload.’
    Denzil
tosses the last sack of manure onto the pallet, then straightens again, wiping
his hands unhurriedly on his black apron. Like me, he has always had a problem
with authority.
    ‘I
haven’t taken my break yet.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘I
want to take it now.’
    Jago
looks from him to me, his small eyes unpleasant. ‘Like that, is it?’ But when
Denzil stands looking at him, his face impassive, Jago shrugs. ‘Take your break,
then. But not a minute longer than fifteen.’
    Denzil
unties his apron and drapes it over the empty trolley. ‘Come on,’ he says to
me. ‘I know somewhere we can talk in private.’
    Jago
watches us go. ‘No smoking anywhere on the site, remember,’ he says, and jabs
his finger towards the sign by the office door that reads in plastic gold
lettering, PLEASE, NO SMOKING.

 
    ‘Jago hasn’t
changed much since school,’ I remark to Denzil as soon as we’re out of earshot.
‘Sorry if I’ve caused trouble by coming here. It sounds like he’s looking for
an excuse to sack you.’
    ‘Don’t
worry about him. Jago’s only the monkey. His dad’s still in charge, and Dick
knows I’m a good worker.’ Denzil winks at me. ‘When I bother to show up, that
is.’
    I
smile. ‘Idiot.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
    There’s a small
staff-only area behind the shed displays. The ground is partly paved, partly
gravelled, with weeds poking out between paving stones. It’s hot and sunny
today. There are some damaged stone benches set to one side, and a pot filled
with soil where people have ground out sneaky cigarettes. Denzil kneels beside
one of the scroll-ended